What Once Was Lost - Sam/Dean - 4/6
Title: What Once Was Lost - 4/6
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2035 - 15,637 total
Warnings: mentions of child torture/murder (no graphic details)
Disclaimer: If I did own them, there would never be breaks, and there would never be hotel rooms with two beds.
Summary: 13 years ago Sam was left behind while his father and brother went on a hunt. Now, the sadistic cultists that Dean thought his father had destroyed are killing children again and Sam finds out that the long ago hunt didn’t go as smoothly as he had been told.
Author's Notes:Thanks and love to my still missing plutogirl10!! Oh, and I used a few names from towns/cities in Pennsilvania and some (very) vague references to police goings-on that are probably totally wrong. I'm not so good with in-depth research. I give no apologies. ;)
What Once Was Lost
Sam kept glancing into the windows of the Impala as he built the make-shift bomb in the back of the car and attached it to the building; as he pulled the two bodies inside; as he cleaned the blood off the van and disturbed the ground where the two men had bled out.
He found all four of their knives in the building and wiped off the handle of the ceremonial knife that Dean had touched. After liberally salting the bodies, and with one last check on the bomb, he shut the door and started the timer, setting it to blow in half an hour.
As he walked back to the car he could see Dean settling Ryan down in the back seat, pushing him gently to lay down, his head resting on Dean’s lap. “How’s your shoulder?” Sam asked as he opened the door closest to his brother.
Ryan glanced up at him briefly, but closed his eyes again when Dean’s hand ran gently across his shoulder. “Not too bad. I think it’s still bleeding though. The bullet didn’t go through.”
Sam helped Dean ease out of his leather jacket and carefully pushed his t-shirt aside to look at his bleeding, bruised shoulder. Dean hissed when Sam touched the outer edges of the wound.
“I’m not gonna try to take the bullet out. We’ll get it looked at when we get to the hospital.” He used the last of the bandages to tape up the wound, his fingers lingering on Dean’s skin, eyes not meeting his brother’s. “You scared the shit out of me,” Sam whispered shakily when he was done.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I just…”
“I know.” Sam gave Dean a wavering smile, his eyes glancing down at Ryan who was already asleep, before leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his brother’s trembling lips. Then he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, checked the girl to make sure she was comfortable once he got in, and silently drove away.
***
Two hours later they were in the hospital, Sam gently holding Dean back as they watched Ryan get wheeled away to the exam room. Behind his own flimsy curtain Dean sat impatiently as a sweet old doctor extracted the bullet and carefully stitched him up, tisking over the scars that canvassed his body and the poor healing done to some. Only the pleading look from Sam kept him from pushing her away and searching the whole hospital until he found Ryan.
“Roxbury officers got there already. The fire’s been put out, and a forensics team from Harrisburg is coming in to check out the scene.” Sheriff Mitchell informed them, tired lines around his eyes stark in the harsh florescent lights.
“You have no idea how thankful we are to you two. We… we found the girl. The one they took two days ago. She…” His eyes filled with tears and he looked away from the brother’s, hands clenching at his sides.
“We’re glad we could help,” Sam said, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder and steering him out of the exam room. “If you need us for everything, we’re going to be here for a while.”
The sheriff nodded and turned to leave, but Dean spoke for the first time since they had left the burning cabin behind. “Where’s his mother?” he asked, jaw tight as the doctor finished the stitches and placed a clean bandage over the wound.
Mitchell sighed and turned back around, face lined with sorrow. “Sent someone out to her, to bring her in. Said she wouldn’t come. Said she didn’t believe him.”
The doctor squeaked a protest when Dean’s body jerked in anger and manhandled him back into place. Sam walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense muscles dancing under his skin. Dean just looked away, closing off to the people around him.
Sam’s hand tightened around his shoulder and he sighed sadly as the sheriff walked away.
***
Dean stared down at the small boy on the hospital bed, remembering 13 years ago when it had been him in that hard, stale bed. Remembering fear and pain. Remembering being so alone. Remembering waking up screaming.
His father had come for him before the end, guns blazing like an action hero, scooping Dean up into his arms and stopping only long enough to salt and burn the bodies. Dean had been in the hospital for three days, recovering from the blood loss; and two weeks more in a hotel, trying to recover from everything else.
He couldn’t image what it would have been like to go through all that without his father by his side. John had been there to hold him when he cried. To soothe him back to sleep when he woke up screaming. To promise him over and over that he was safe, no one could hurt him, I’m here now, you’re not alone.
When Ryan woke up his mother wouldn’t be there. No one would. All he had in his life was an old man at a gas station. Dean ran a gentle hand through Ryan’s hair and blinked back tears of sorrow and memory.
Sam walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Dean leaned back into him, one hand curling around Sam’s wrist, thumb brushing over his pulse.
“You saved him, Dean,” Sam whispered, squeezing just a little tighter, knowing this was a rare occasion; that Dean would let down his guard, put away the mask, long enough to let Sam comfort him. “He’s alive because of you.” He placed a soft kiss on Dean’s neck and released his hold before Dean could push him away.
Dean let out a sarcastic snort, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
Sam jerked back as if he had been hit. “Dean, how can you say that?” he asked, confused and horrified.
Dean turned dark eyes to his brother, and stared at him as if he could burn him alive. “What did I bring him back to, Sam? Nothing. He has nothing. No one to care about him. No one to love him. He’s been through hell, and his mother is off somewhere drunk, and doesn’t give a damn about him.”
Dean turned back to the boy, his whole body shaking. “How will he ever survive this alone?” he whispered, tears filling his eyes and sliding down his face. He turned around and pushed passed Sam to get to the door. “He’s better off dead,” he hissed as he fled the room.
***
Hours passed and Dean didn’t return. Nurses came and went, checking on Ryan as he slept the deep sleep of the drugged. Sam stayed close by Ryan’s side as much as he could, waiting for him to wake up, not wanting him to be alone.
When they had finally reached the hospital, each carrying a child into the ER, Ryan had cried when they took him away from Dean. Scared and in pain, Dean had been his only stable source. The only person he knew he could trust. But now Dean was gone, lost somewhere in his own sorrow, and Ryan didn’t have anyone.
Sam thought about what Dean had said and wondered it there wasn’t some truth behind it. Sending Ryan back to his mother certainly wasn’t a good idea. After all, Sam believed his mother when she said that Ryan ran off sometimes. But he also believed Nathaniel that Ryan was a good kid that never ran away. He only ran way from his home.
The fact that a thirteen year old kid would be so desperate to get away from his home that he would sleep God knows where nights at a time, but still show up to school every day, and go to the gas station to help Nathaniel, said a hell of a lot about Ryan’s home life. And Ryan too.
He was obviously a strong kid. Sam knew he would survive if they sent him home. But that didn’t mean it was the bet thing for him.
A jostling from the bed drew Sam’s attention and he turned to see Ryan sifting restlessly. He reached over to him and placed a hand gently on his forehead, trying to calm him as he woke up. “Ryan, can you hear me?” he asked softly.
Ryan whimpered and shifted away from Sam’s touch, his eyes opened wide, deep brown depth filled with fear turning to look at Sam. “Dean?” Ryan whimpered, his voice so young and fragile.
Sam’s heart clenched tightly and tears filled his eyes. “Dean’s not here right now, pal,” he said. “He’ll be back soon.”
Sam watched silently as Ryan slowly woke up, his eyes clearing of the drugged haze. “If he’s gone to get my mom she’s not gonna come,” the boy said after a few minutes, his eyes not meeting Sam’s.
“Yeah, we know.”
Ryan turned to look at Sam, his eyes calculating, searching for something. “Who are you?” he asked, his fingers playing restlessly with the thin blanket that covered him.
Sam swallowed hard and glanced nervously around the room as if someone was listening in the shadows. He didn’t want to lie to Ryan. The boy had been through enough, he needed to be able to trust someone. Sam also got the suspicion that Ryan would know he was lying.
He leaned close to the bed and looked into Ryan’s dark eyes. “We’re hunters,” he said. “Me and my brother. We hunt the supernatural. Kill evil things, like the cultists that took you. It’s… kind of our job.”
Ryan looked at Sam, suspicion written on his face. Sam just stared back, determined to make him believe, to let him know he was safe. Finally Ryan nodded and relaxed, eyes slipping closed into sleep.
Just then Dean walked through the door, keys dangling loudly in his hand, and Ryan sprang back up, smiling brightly when he saw Dean. “Dean!” he shouted, nearly launching himself from the bed. But Sam caught him by the shoulders and gently pushed him back.
“You need to rest, Ryan,” he said in explanation to Ryan’s hurt look. The boy nodded and lay back down, body stiff until Sam let go of him, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Dean.
“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Dean asked, sitting down on the bed next to Ryan, ignoring Sam’s questioning look.
Ryan sniffed and looked away from Dean, picking at an invisible spot on the blanket. “Okay,” he said with just the slightest quiver.
Dean waited for a minute, but Ryan wouldn’t look at him. Finally he reached out one hand and lifted Ryan’s face up with two fingers under his trembling chin. Ryan’s eyes met Dean’s and it was only a moment before he was shaking his head, tears filling his dark eyes. He cast a quick look at Sam and turned his face away, trying to hide an embarrassed sniffle.
Sam knew that stare. Knew it all too well. Dean had perfected it far before he was even an adult. Sam remembered being twelve, staring up into Dean’s serious, dark eyes, the heat of his strong hands under Sam’s chin, telling Dean about the bully in his 6th grade class.
Dean had always known when Sam was lying to him, but he had wanted to hear it from Sam. Sam had never been able to look into those eyes and not tell him everything. Not until he left.
He watched the two of them for a few minutes; his big, tough, man’s-man of a brother turned back into a soft, gentle protector in the face of a frightened boy. And he knew, deep down in his heart, that Dean was the only one who truly understood what Ryan had been through. The only one that could really help him.
He just didn’t know what to do about that.
::: Part 4 :::
- Meagan
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2035 - 15,637 total
Warnings: mentions of child torture/murder (no graphic details)
Disclaimer: If I did own them, there would never be breaks, and there would never be hotel rooms with two beds.
Summary: 13 years ago Sam was left behind while his father and brother went on a hunt. Now, the sadistic cultists that Dean thought his father had destroyed are killing children again and Sam finds out that the long ago hunt didn’t go as smoothly as he had been told.
Author's Notes:Thanks and love to my still missing plutogirl10!! Oh, and I used a few names from towns/cities in Pennsilvania and some (very) vague references to police goings-on that are probably totally wrong. I'm not so good with in-depth research. I give no apologies. ;)
What Once Was Lost
Sam kept glancing into the windows of the Impala as he built the make-shift bomb in the back of the car and attached it to the building; as he pulled the two bodies inside; as he cleaned the blood off the van and disturbed the ground where the two men had bled out.
He found all four of their knives in the building and wiped off the handle of the ceremonial knife that Dean had touched. After liberally salting the bodies, and with one last check on the bomb, he shut the door and started the timer, setting it to blow in half an hour.
As he walked back to the car he could see Dean settling Ryan down in the back seat, pushing him gently to lay down, his head resting on Dean’s lap. “How’s your shoulder?” Sam asked as he opened the door closest to his brother.
Ryan glanced up at him briefly, but closed his eyes again when Dean’s hand ran gently across his shoulder. “Not too bad. I think it’s still bleeding though. The bullet didn’t go through.”
Sam helped Dean ease out of his leather jacket and carefully pushed his t-shirt aside to look at his bleeding, bruised shoulder. Dean hissed when Sam touched the outer edges of the wound.
“I’m not gonna try to take the bullet out. We’ll get it looked at when we get to the hospital.” He used the last of the bandages to tape up the wound, his fingers lingering on Dean’s skin, eyes not meeting his brother’s. “You scared the shit out of me,” Sam whispered shakily when he was done.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I just…”
“I know.” Sam gave Dean a wavering smile, his eyes glancing down at Ryan who was already asleep, before leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his brother’s trembling lips. Then he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, checked the girl to make sure she was comfortable once he got in, and silently drove away.
***
Two hours later they were in the hospital, Sam gently holding Dean back as they watched Ryan get wheeled away to the exam room. Behind his own flimsy curtain Dean sat impatiently as a sweet old doctor extracted the bullet and carefully stitched him up, tisking over the scars that canvassed his body and the poor healing done to some. Only the pleading look from Sam kept him from pushing her away and searching the whole hospital until he found Ryan.
“Roxbury officers got there already. The fire’s been put out, and a forensics team from Harrisburg is coming in to check out the scene.” Sheriff Mitchell informed them, tired lines around his eyes stark in the harsh florescent lights.
“You have no idea how thankful we are to you two. We… we found the girl. The one they took two days ago. She…” His eyes filled with tears and he looked away from the brother’s, hands clenching at his sides.
“We’re glad we could help,” Sam said, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder and steering him out of the exam room. “If you need us for everything, we’re going to be here for a while.”
The sheriff nodded and turned to leave, but Dean spoke for the first time since they had left the burning cabin behind. “Where’s his mother?” he asked, jaw tight as the doctor finished the stitches and placed a clean bandage over the wound.
Mitchell sighed and turned back around, face lined with sorrow. “Sent someone out to her, to bring her in. Said she wouldn’t come. Said she didn’t believe him.”
The doctor squeaked a protest when Dean’s body jerked in anger and manhandled him back into place. Sam walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense muscles dancing under his skin. Dean just looked away, closing off to the people around him.
Sam’s hand tightened around his shoulder and he sighed sadly as the sheriff walked away.
***
Dean stared down at the small boy on the hospital bed, remembering 13 years ago when it had been him in that hard, stale bed. Remembering fear and pain. Remembering being so alone. Remembering waking up screaming.
His father had come for him before the end, guns blazing like an action hero, scooping Dean up into his arms and stopping only long enough to salt and burn the bodies. Dean had been in the hospital for three days, recovering from the blood loss; and two weeks more in a hotel, trying to recover from everything else.
He couldn’t image what it would have been like to go through all that without his father by his side. John had been there to hold him when he cried. To soothe him back to sleep when he woke up screaming. To promise him over and over that he was safe, no one could hurt him, I’m here now, you’re not alone.
When Ryan woke up his mother wouldn’t be there. No one would. All he had in his life was an old man at a gas station. Dean ran a gentle hand through Ryan’s hair and blinked back tears of sorrow and memory.
Sam walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Dean leaned back into him, one hand curling around Sam’s wrist, thumb brushing over his pulse.
“You saved him, Dean,” Sam whispered, squeezing just a little tighter, knowing this was a rare occasion; that Dean would let down his guard, put away the mask, long enough to let Sam comfort him. “He’s alive because of you.” He placed a soft kiss on Dean’s neck and released his hold before Dean could push him away.
Dean let out a sarcastic snort, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
Sam jerked back as if he had been hit. “Dean, how can you say that?” he asked, confused and horrified.
Dean turned dark eyes to his brother, and stared at him as if he could burn him alive. “What did I bring him back to, Sam? Nothing. He has nothing. No one to care about him. No one to love him. He’s been through hell, and his mother is off somewhere drunk, and doesn’t give a damn about him.”
Dean turned back to the boy, his whole body shaking. “How will he ever survive this alone?” he whispered, tears filling his eyes and sliding down his face. He turned around and pushed passed Sam to get to the door. “He’s better off dead,” he hissed as he fled the room.
***
Hours passed and Dean didn’t return. Nurses came and went, checking on Ryan as he slept the deep sleep of the drugged. Sam stayed close by Ryan’s side as much as he could, waiting for him to wake up, not wanting him to be alone.
When they had finally reached the hospital, each carrying a child into the ER, Ryan had cried when they took him away from Dean. Scared and in pain, Dean had been his only stable source. The only person he knew he could trust. But now Dean was gone, lost somewhere in his own sorrow, and Ryan didn’t have anyone.
Sam thought about what Dean had said and wondered it there wasn’t some truth behind it. Sending Ryan back to his mother certainly wasn’t a good idea. After all, Sam believed his mother when she said that Ryan ran off sometimes. But he also believed Nathaniel that Ryan was a good kid that never ran away. He only ran way from his home.
The fact that a thirteen year old kid would be so desperate to get away from his home that he would sleep God knows where nights at a time, but still show up to school every day, and go to the gas station to help Nathaniel, said a hell of a lot about Ryan’s home life. And Ryan too.
He was obviously a strong kid. Sam knew he would survive if they sent him home. But that didn’t mean it was the bet thing for him.
A jostling from the bed drew Sam’s attention and he turned to see Ryan sifting restlessly. He reached over to him and placed a hand gently on his forehead, trying to calm him as he woke up. “Ryan, can you hear me?” he asked softly.
Ryan whimpered and shifted away from Sam’s touch, his eyes opened wide, deep brown depth filled with fear turning to look at Sam. “Dean?” Ryan whimpered, his voice so young and fragile.
Sam’s heart clenched tightly and tears filled his eyes. “Dean’s not here right now, pal,” he said. “He’ll be back soon.”
Sam watched silently as Ryan slowly woke up, his eyes clearing of the drugged haze. “If he’s gone to get my mom she’s not gonna come,” the boy said after a few minutes, his eyes not meeting Sam’s.
“Yeah, we know.”
Ryan turned to look at Sam, his eyes calculating, searching for something. “Who are you?” he asked, his fingers playing restlessly with the thin blanket that covered him.
Sam swallowed hard and glanced nervously around the room as if someone was listening in the shadows. He didn’t want to lie to Ryan. The boy had been through enough, he needed to be able to trust someone. Sam also got the suspicion that Ryan would know he was lying.
He leaned close to the bed and looked into Ryan’s dark eyes. “We’re hunters,” he said. “Me and my brother. We hunt the supernatural. Kill evil things, like the cultists that took you. It’s… kind of our job.”
Ryan looked at Sam, suspicion written on his face. Sam just stared back, determined to make him believe, to let him know he was safe. Finally Ryan nodded and relaxed, eyes slipping closed into sleep.
Just then Dean walked through the door, keys dangling loudly in his hand, and Ryan sprang back up, smiling brightly when he saw Dean. “Dean!” he shouted, nearly launching himself from the bed. But Sam caught him by the shoulders and gently pushed him back.
“You need to rest, Ryan,” he said in explanation to Ryan’s hurt look. The boy nodded and lay back down, body stiff until Sam let go of him, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Dean.
“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Dean asked, sitting down on the bed next to Ryan, ignoring Sam’s questioning look.
Ryan sniffed and looked away from Dean, picking at an invisible spot on the blanket. “Okay,” he said with just the slightest quiver.
Dean waited for a minute, but Ryan wouldn’t look at him. Finally he reached out one hand and lifted Ryan’s face up with two fingers under his trembling chin. Ryan’s eyes met Dean’s and it was only a moment before he was shaking his head, tears filling his dark eyes. He cast a quick look at Sam and turned his face away, trying to hide an embarrassed sniffle.
Sam knew that stare. Knew it all too well. Dean had perfected it far before he was even an adult. Sam remembered being twelve, staring up into Dean’s serious, dark eyes, the heat of his strong hands under Sam’s chin, telling Dean about the bully in his 6th grade class.
Dean had always known when Sam was lying to him, but he had wanted to hear it from Sam. Sam had never been able to look into those eyes and not tell him everything. Not until he left.
He watched the two of them for a few minutes; his big, tough, man’s-man of a brother turned back into a soft, gentle protector in the face of a frightened boy. And he knew, deep down in his heart, that Dean was the only one who truly understood what Ryan had been through. The only one that could really help him.
He just didn’t know what to do about that.
::: Part 4 :::
- Meagan